An Empty House
by Nightwitch87
Summary: Set decades after the TVshow, see summary inside. Independent sequel to Silence. Oneparter. ALEX


Disclaimer: 1.) I do not own "McLeod's Daughters" or any of the show's characters. All rights belong to the Nine Network, "Millenium Television", and the other creators of the concept. They should get the credit for it, I merely wrote this fanfic – just for fun, not for profit.

2.) I did not write the song "Hurt" either, and neither do the rights belong to me. It was first performed by "Nine Inch Nails" and later covered by Johnny Cash in 2003, in a better version (but that's just my opinion). These are the lyrics of the Cash version.

Age Rating: PG-13/FSK 12

Summary: Many decades have passed; Alex is now a lonely man in his mid-fifties, who increasingly drowns his sorrow in alcohol. But on the most fateful of days, he is paid a surprise visit… Sequel to "Silence"/"Stille", but the two are not really interrelated and are therefore two separate pieces.

Author's Note: This is my first songfic, so bear with me here. I know that some of you would have appreciated a happier, more cheerful, maybe even funny one-parter, for once – I'm sorry. For some reason, it's the depressing ones that keep popping up in my head. I listened to the song today, and the idea was suddenly there and wouldn't go away. As always, _any_ kind of feedback (positive/negative, long/short) is greatly appreciated, as long as it's honest. I can take constructive criticism. Thanks in advance!

**An Empty House**

_I hurt myself today_

_to see if I still feel._

_I focus on the pain-_

_the only thing that's real._

Alex turned the rifle in his hands, slowly feeling every detail of the polished wood. It was smooth, like a shelf that had just been dusted. He wondered who would find him – Roger, Brendan, one of the farmhands? Hopefully not that new bloke, Andy, he was way too sensitive.

Would it hurt? Definitely, the bullet would burst, tearing his tissue apart. He could recall many incidents when a boar hadn't been shot correctly and had kept squealing for twenty minutes, half an hour, dying a slow, painful death – if nobody interfered. Oh no, he had to do it correctly, hit the right spot…

The thought of it was almost gruesome enough to make him shrink away from it. Almost. He took another big gulp of whiskey, hoping that it would make it easier. His mind had already started to cloud over, his vision narrowed to a smaller channel, and a familiar feeling of warmth had begun to spread in his body. It wasn't quite enough, though.

_The needle tears a hole;_

_the old familiar sting,_

_try to kill it all away,_

_but I remember everything._

Pictures had welled up inside him, pictures of the years, his childhood, his father, Nick, Charlotte, Fiona, Stevie, Tess, Claire Ruth, Scott…and Claire, over and over again. He felt so confused, increasingly lost with each minute that passed, and he just wanted to go back to living those memories…and, at the same time, he wanted them to stop. He didn't want to hurt anymore, didn't want this gaping hollowness.

_What have I become,_

_my sweetest friend?_

_Everyone I know_

_goes away in the end._

How would his family react? Nick and Tess in particular, he hoped that they wouldn't feel guilty or anything. That twisted way of thinking was so like them, he was almost certain that they would blame themselves. In a way, he regretted not saying goodbye to them…but it would have made it harder, and possibly alerted them. And he wasn't that good with words anyway.

Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house. Alex looked up in wonder. Who would be visiting him at this hour? Who would be visiting him at all? He decided to ignore it, it didn't matter anyway. Nothing could change his plan, and least of all some solicitor who thought it appropriate to throw people out of bed and didn't give a shit about it.

_And you could have it all:_

_My empire of dirt;_

_I will let you down,_

_I will make you hurt._

Whoever was ringing the bell, he didn't give up easily. It was quite annoying, actually, distracting. And what if it really was an emergency, a car accident, for example? The next farm was a few miles away.

"Bloody hell…" He got up from his chair, took the gun, laid it onto the table in the dining room –nobody needed to see this- and dragged himself to the front door. "Coming!"

"What-" He was stunned. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this. There she was, standing in front of him, smiling hesitantly, a pretty, young woman with long, blond hair and big blue eyes – Charlotte Prudence McLeod.

"Hi, Uncle Alex. I…hope I didn't wake you up." She surveyed him critically, and suddenly, he felt as ashamed and dirty as he looked. He had spent the night in his day clothes, half sleeping, half awake, and he probably looked like a wreck. She wasn't meant to see him like this.

_I wear this crown of thorns_

_upon my liar's chair:_

_Full of broken thoughts,_

_I cannot repair._

But he quickly composed himself, one of the old grins spreading on his face. "Now that's a pleasant surprise…what are you doing in this part of the country?"

"Oh, you know, I got a meeting in Melbourne tonight, and I thought I might as well stop by here on my way…it's so good to see you!" Something about the way she hugged him made him suspicious. It was as if something had really upset her.

"Well, come on inside…" They walked through the corridor. "That's a long way round, though. Gungellan is not exactly on the way between Queensland and New South Wales."

Charlotte shrugged, avoiding his gaze.

He shook his head. "Now I may look old to you, but I'm not old enough for you to fool me, Char. Why are you really here?"

She stopped and turned to face him. He could see the concern in her eyes. "Alright…it's Uncle Nick, he's worried about you. Ever since his last visit here, he hasn't stopped talking about it…"

"About what?"

"Well…" She walked on slowly. "your…behaviour. I guess…this year - it must be hard for you."

_Beneath the stains of time,_

_the feelings disappear._

He smiled reassuringly, as much as he was able to. "I'm fine, don't worry."

She frowned. "I hate to mention it, but you have boozy breath, and it's seven o'clock in the morning."

"I guess I overdid it a little last night." He tried to shrug it off with a lopsided grin. "You should have called."

"I did, several times, but you never answered the phone."

They entered the living room, and for a moment, Alex could virtually see how the rest of her joy over seeing him evaporated, how her hopes were crushed. She looked around the room and then back at him sadly, shaken to the core. It took him a moment to grasp why – but then the painful realization hit him.

Of course. She had to remember this room as the light, elegantly furnished place it had been in her childhood, when she had played here occasionally. Not having been to Killarney in the past five years, the contrast had to be stark.

A few items had been sold, to reduce the debt he was in, others had been replaced in the meantime. The times when he had been able to afford a housekeeper were over, and he had never cared much about furniture or decoration, and with all of his friends gradually moving away, including Stevie, there was just no point in keeping things neat for visitors. He didn't have the strength to care about details like that anymore. This place was meant to be a family home, to be passed on from generation to generation. He was just an old bachelor, nothing more. It was meaningless, just like the rest of it.

But now, with Charlotte facing it – he saw the changes, the ugliness, and it made him feel even more ashamed.

_You are someone else,_

_I am still right here._

"Alex…" she muttered quietly, staring at the dark, cheap sofa with an old blanket thrown carelessly over it, the stains on the carpet, the chaotic mess of dirty dishes and, most importantly, the countless empty bottles of liquor.

But once more, she forced a smile, sitting down on the sofa across from him. "So how have you been? How's that talented overseer Uncle Nick told me about?"

"I fired him."

"But why?"

"He was ready for a fight twenty-four-seven, couldn't stand to have someone tell him what to do. Always thought his way had to be the best, the way things needed to be done."

"But maybe his ideas were good…"

From the way she said it, he could clearly hear that Nick had to have implanted some idea of Dylan as the saviour of Killarney in her mind. It angered him. "So you think that way, too! 'That guy has lost his mind, lucky him he had such a good overseer to keep him from bankrupting the farm'?"

"I didn't say that" she replied sharply. "I just think that…you need help."

He smiled conciliatorily, regretting his harsh words. "Look, honey, it's sweet of you to stop by and see how I'm doing…but I told you, I'm fine!"

Charlotte shook her head resolutely, and this time, he could see something else, besides the deep sadness that had been there before – rage. She was mad at him. "You're not, you're a mess! Look at you…look at this room, the homestead, the whole farm!"

_What have I become,_

_my sweetest friend?_

Before Alex could say anything else, she had got up and walked over to the shelf with determination, taking out the first two bottles she could get hold of, walking into the kitchen with them.

"Hey…what do you think you're doing! Charlotte!" He looked at her in disbelief, but, grasping what she was about to do, hurried after her quickly. "Don't you dare…"

Too late, she had already started pouring expensive whiskey down the drain. This girl had some guts, he had to admit that…in many ways, she reminded him of her mother. And still, it angered him, she had no right to tell him what to do.

"Give me that!" It was easy for him to snatch the bottles back, since he was much stronger than her. He held them high up in the air and when she realized that any attempt at getting them back was futile, she pushed him away with surprising force.

"I won't let you throw your life away!"

"Not much to be thrown away, is there!"

"You're selfish!" she shouted. "You think you're living on this lonely little planet all by yourself, but it's not like that! There are people who care about you, like me, Aunt Tess, Nick, Claire and Scott, people who'd do anything to help you…and you just push them away!

"Now look, about the farm-"

"I don't care about the stupid farm!" Her eyes were sparkling with tears of fury and desperation. "Stop making excuses, I don't care…I just want you to be yourself again!"

_Everyone I know_

_goes away in the end_

"Charlotte…" He was hurting her. How could it have come to this? He had never wanted to hurt her, never. She was the one person he could least stand to see in pain. "I'm sorry, I really am. Look…I know it's probably…hard to understand, but please just…let it go. It's got nothing to do with you, BOM, really."

She shook her head incredulously. "You just don't get it, do you? Don't be sorry, don't say you're fine when you're not, don't belittle what I'm saying and please, don't call me BOM, I'm not a little girl anymore. I want to know what's going on. Maybe you should better talk to a counsellor or someone about this –oh, I know, you country people don't like to hear that word- but why are you doing this?"

"See, the truth is…I don't know."

Charlotte looked at him sympathetically, unsure of what to say.

"You're so much like your mother" he remarked.

She smiled half-heartedly, slightly intimidated by the statement. "You don't need to say that, I know I don't look much like her."

"Oh, it's about more than looks. You definitely inherited her stubbornness…and her smile. But listen, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about, concerning the farm."

She rolled her eyes, sitting down on a kitchen chair. "Fine, whatever."

"I don't have any children, so technically, Scott and Claire are the closest relatives of the next generation. But…if you agree to it…I named you as a third heir in my testament. I know you're not into the whole farming thing, and you can do with your share whatever you want, but I'd like the three of you to have a third of Killarney each."

"You have a testament?" she exclaimed, the concern back in her voice. "But…you're not going to die anytime soon…"

His heart sank at the remark. "No. No, 'course not" he added quickly. "But you never know…it's just a precaution. So what do you say?"

_And you could have it all:_

_My empire of dirt._

"This is…a bit of a surprise. I don't know what to say. I mean I feel very honoured, of course. If it's okay with Claire and Scott, I'd…I don't know."

"You don't need to decide right away. Take your time."

He shouldn't have said it, he knew that now. She was clearly overtaxed by the question, worried, but too confused to really suspect anything. "Yeah, I'll…I'll let you know."

"Alright."

Charlotte looked at her watch and stood up reluctantly. "Well…I'm sorry, but I need to get going, I really do have a meeting in Melbourne tonight. I'll come back tomorrow, though, on my way home, and then we'll have more time to talk, alright?" She threw him a piercing glance, and the way she had emphasized the "talk" had really said it all. "You'll be here then, won't you?"

"Sure. Where else would I be?"

She hugged him again, longer than before. "Take care, please…" Her voice was shaky and he felt a lump in his throat, too.

"Yeah, you too. Drive safe!"

He saw her out, looking after her as she approached her car. She turned around once more and waved, smiling. "See you tomorrow, Uncle Alex!"

_I will let you down,_

_I will make you hurt._

As Alex walked back into the living room, he felt more sober than ever, in spite of the drinks he'd had, clearer in his mind than he had at any point in the previous weeks. He took the rifle out of the dining room, dragged himself upstairs slowly, and locked it away in the cabinet, careful to take out the munitions first. It had to be safe.

Then, he went into his bedroom, sat down on the bed, which was way too large for him, and looked around. It was empty, awfully empty. And still…something kept him here, in this house, the house that he had once hoped would be a home to his own family.

He took a picture from his bedside table and smiled down at the young woman it displayed, the woman who was still so vivid in his memory, who had never faded, in spite of the years. It had been taken on her last birthday party. "That was one of your tricks again, wasn't it? And a good one, too…"

Suddenly, a dry sob escaped his throat, and another one, and before he knew it, he felt hot tears running down his cheeks. His shoulders shaking, he collapsed back upon himself, still clutching the picture.

"Happy 25th anniversary, Claire…I won't be long now…not much longer…"

_If I could start again,_

_a million miles away,_

_I would keep myself,_

_I would find a way._


End file.
